Faithful Scout
by Zemmiphobia
Summary: Friendship is a hard road of ups and downs but anyone who has walked it can tell you it's worth it in the end. A series of John's memories as he and Tonto learn to trust each other. Companion to Pah'choko-to'vt. No Slash.


**Faithful Scout**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lone Ranger (2013) copyrights.**

**A/n: This is John's version of _Pah'choko-to'vt. _All allusions to John's past are my own head canon and shouldn't be taken as canon. Please enjoy and if you see something you like or don't like, review and let me know. Cheers!**

000ooo000

John, despite what Tonto thought, was not an idiot. He had definitely not been in top form this week, having been caught off guard by almost everything, but he knew what he was doing...mostly. It just happened that he had been a touch oblivious when it came to his new life as a vigilante. Personally, John blamed this on Dan who had repeatedly dropped him on his head as a child. Dan had been a really bad at child rearing. Looking back on recent events, he could clearly see all the mistakes that he had made and how blind he had been to even the most clear signs that something wasn't quite right. In little over a week, John had managed to die, come back, almost die again, kill at least six people he was aware off, and absolutely fail to realize how little he really knew about the world until it was almost too late. John knew he had said some pretty unforgivable things to Tonto. Things that, had it been any other person, might had completely ruined the small friendship they had developed. John didn't want to be the green idiot who followed Tonto around like a puppy, figuratively pissing on the man's boots and throwing things into his face. He wanted to keep the strange friend he had made, the first ever since Rebecca had chosen Dan, and he was willing to do anything. He might not be very observant, but with the world as his witness he was going to change. That night, as the two of them enjoyed the first peaceful night they had had in days, he made a silent promise to Tonto. He was going to do right by him, no matter what it took.

_000Study Hard000_

"Teach." Demanded Tonto, dropping a worn copy of _The Moonstone_ he had 'traded' off a dead outlaw into John's lap. Startled, John looked up from the gun he was cleaning and stared.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, not sure if had heard right. Tonto gave him a pained look John was starting to associate as his 'why are you such an idiot' face.

"Teach book secrets." _Book secrets? What the hell were book sec- oh._

"You want to learn to read?" He asked, surprised. Tonto had never seemed like the intellectual type, scoffing every time John brought up a book he had read or something he had learned at college.

"You teach. I hunt. Trade." Impossibly, Tonto managed to look even more annoyed. John was starting to feel a bit irritated himself. He knew how to hunt! He had been shooting things from the time his dad had first put a rifle in his hands and told him to point it.

"A trade? Like, you teach me, I teach you?" Tonto nodded, looking pleased with himself. He obviously thought he was getting a bargain. "But I already know how to hunt!" John complained. He wasn't that bad a shot! Without a word, Tonto reached over and plucked the gun out of his hand. Without giving John a chance to protest, he raised it above his head and shot straight into the sky.

Almost immediately a small pheasant dropped out of the sky like manna from heaven. _Lucky shot_ John thought and then decided to bow to the inevitable. Maybe he'd finally get to be the smart one.

"Alright, it's a deal."

Tonto looked horribly smug.

_000Magic Words000_

John had never wanted to kill anyone has much as he wanted to kill Tonto at that moment. They had been standing in the sun for hours, tracing letters in the sand for him to read but after one round of singing, the crazy Comanche had close off tighter than noose.

"Come on, Tonto, stop sulking!" He begged, really wanting this session to be done with so he could find a shady place to nap. Tonto scowled at him and then down at the letters in the dirt.

"Stupid song." He heard Tonto mutter. John felt all his patience drain out, leaving him itching to throttle his friend. Just as he was about to throw the stick at his stupid head, John paused, considering. Remembering how his mother had convinced Dan to finish his letters, John dropped his shoulders and sighed.

"If you really don't want to learn, you don't have to." He said softly, pretending to hold back tears. He felt like an idiot but he held the pose, the picture of hurt feelings. Predictably, Tonto's eyes went wide, filled with panic. Fighting a smile, John dropped the stick and sighed again. Damn this was easy. Tonto grunted and picked up the stick, looking for all the world like he was going to an execution. Listening to him start up his ABC's again was the best sound John had heard all day.

_000Teach Me000_

They say turnabout is fair play. Steadying the gun for another shot, John glanced over at Tonto who was looking frustrated. He hated this, he hated the feel of the gun in his hand, and he hated the fact that he needed it. If John had never picked up another revolver in his life, he would have been perfectly happy but life was rarely fair. Texas, despite its beautiful cities, was as wild as its western cousins and dangerous people ran loose with nothing but his gun between them and good people. Sucking in a hard breath, he aimed and shot. At the last minute, Andy Tucker's face appeared in his mind and made his hand jerk. The shot went crooked, missing the rock completely.

"The rock, Kemosabe, the _rock."_ It amazed John how Tonto could managed to sound so condescending when he barely ever said more than three words at a time. He glared and then glared at his gun.

"Stop pouting." Tonto added, amusement dripping off every word. Oh, that arrogant bastard.

"I'm _not_ pouting." He informed Tonto testily. The older man ignored him and stepped over to grab his arm. Feeling like a child, John waited until Tonto was satisfied. When he wasn't in danger off being shot, John pulled the trigger. Memories crowded him and the shot missed again. Tonto threw his arms up and started muttering something he couldn't understand. It didn't sound complimentary.

000_Past Problems_000

While Tonto went swimming – who swam fully clothed, the crazy Indian – John sat on his bedroll and stared off into the Texan plains, his mind full of memories. He could shoot, he knew he could. As a boy hunting had been the main source of food for his family on their homestead. Trips to town were long and costly so the six of them had stuck to hunting deer to keep the meat larder full. If he closed his eyes he could smell the grass as he, Dan, and Dad had crept through the dark morning. Even Becky, his little sister who had died of a fever at thirteen, had known how to handle a gun in case someone tried to raid the farm. Musing, John lifted his pistol and let the sun glint off the metal. It was psychological, he knew it was. During the fight, his aim had been bad but it hadn't been _awful._ Now, with nothing to distract him from his own demons, he couldn't shoot a fish in a barrel. John bowed his head and closed his eyes. Sometimes he really hated himself.

_000Save Me000_

"Help, Kemosabe!" Tonto's voice carried over the prairie like the shot of a cannon. Startled out of a dead sleep, John tried to jump to his feet still in the bedroll. Cursing, he tripped and fell to the ground, his legs tangled in the blankets. Tonto shouted again and John realized he wasn't in camp. Horrified, John freed himself and grabbed his gun, thoughts of Tonto being pinned by outlaws and trapped flying through his brain. Heart pounding in fear for his friend, he raced towards Tonto's voice. Before he reached the rocks, John heard a startled yelp of pain and the sound of sliding rocks. _Oh God_, thought John, _please don't be dead_. The scene he walked into was every settler's nightmare. _I'm going to be seeing this in my dreams for a while,_ John thought as he took in the situation. Tonto was pinned up against the side of a rock, nothing between him and a huge, angry rattler. The snake, his tail going like mad, was hissing in all it's fury at the idiot who had gotten too close. John's vision dimmed, narrowing until all he saw was the snake as it reared back to strike. His gun was cleared and smoking before he even thought about reaching for it. Bloodied, the headless snake fell limply onto it's coils and lay there bleeding out into the dirt. Tonto, John could see, was trembling. Thousands of angry words rose up in his throat. How could he have been so stupid as to get that close? The position he was in, you'd have thought he had just walked up to- John froze and studied the angle between Tonto and the snake. He _had_ walked up to it, there was no other way he would've gotten that close without seeing the snake. For a second, John had a horrible thought that Tonto had tried to kill himself. Then reality set back in and he saw Tonto looking at his gun. Damn him for an idiot, but Tonto had been trying to help him.

"Snake better than Rock." Tonto said, relief coloring his words. John smiled at him and privately promised to never let Tonto wander out of sight again.

_000Head First000_

The outlaws had them cornered. Who ever decided that all gunfights had to be fought on high, wooden, rickety mining tracks was an idiot. Cursing silently to himself, John eyed the three men in front of him and then down at Tonto, who was fighting his own group a floor below him. They were out numbered, four to one, and Tonto didn't have a gun. One of the men laughed and shot at John's feet, missing him by inches. Luckily, it seemed they were all pretty drunk. Glaring, John grabbed a loose box full of rocks and tossed it at the man's head. It connected and the man went down, out cold. His partner started cussing loudly and raised his gun to level it at John. Then, as if a light went on in his head, he lowered the gun and pointed. Right at Tonto. Who, as usual, was not paying attention. John shouted, lunged, and knocked Tonto off the track and out of the path of the bullet. As everything went dark, he was reassured by the angry shouting in Comanche.

_000Soft Words000_

Tonto, John found out quickly, was prone to nightmares. This of itself wasn't surprising. He didn't think there was a man west of Virginia who didn't have a few demons to keep him company, even John had a few that kept him awake now and then. Tonto, however, was a screamer. It wasn't loud screams, or even legible screams, it was just a low, deep keening. John had heard something similar as a child when the family dog had been shot in the gut by a Indian and had died a long, slow death, bleeding out. John had been alone and unable to help his friend, who had saved his life. Peach was a common feature in his own nightmares. John watched as Tonto, sound asleep, started shaking. This was a sign that his dream was going to be one of the bad ones. He had no idea what Tonto dreamed off and wasn't about to ask. There were somethings to personal for words and John respected that. When the older man started feverishly whispering something that sounded like 'tea' and twitching, John decided to help.

"Tonto." He called, trying to wake him up. Tonto jerked like someone had shot him but didn't wake. John tried again, calling louder and throwing one of his socks. It hit Tonto in the face. Dark eyes snapped open and stared at him unseeing for a moment. John watched as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. "You alright?" He asked softly, sympathizing. Tonto nodded once and sat up, looking like death warmed over. John watch him stare into the fire and then decided he was fine. Smiling, John rolled back over and closed his eyes. Tonto would probably appreciate some privacy with his thoughts and John could give that to him. What were friends for?

_000End Results000_

John had just finishing tying up the idiot on the floor when he heard Tonto muttering something to himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he was surprised to see Tonto holding a bottle of whiskey in his hands and studying it intently. This, by itself was not surprising. He had never seen anyone with a higher alcohol tolerance than Tonto. The man could drink moonshine like it was water. What was surprising was the attention he was paying to the label, his lips moving as he silently formed the words. Tonto was _reading. _Feeling a swell of pride for him, John turned his attention back to the other bandit laying unconscious on the tavern floor. Tonto would figure it out on his own, he was a smart man. Sure enough, a few minutes later, he heard,

"Bufflo." _Not quite right_, said the lawyer in John's head, _but close enough_. After another second, Tonto said, "Bufflo Trace." John grinned.

"What?" He asked, wanting to let Tonto show off his new skill. Tonto made a face but looked pleased with himself. He held up the bottle and let the unmarred label glint in the dim light.

"Bufflo Trace Whisskey." He said, his voice a little thick. John's grin widened until he was sure he looked crazy. He wouldn't have corrected Tonto for the world.

"Sounds good." He said, walking over to the bar. He normally didn't drink, but this was too good a moment to pass up. Ignoring the shocked look on Tonto's face, he grabbed the bottle and two uncracked glasses to pour them both a shot. Hmm, he thought looking around the tavern, they had really done some damage. Still smiling, he handed a glass to Tonto and raised his. "This calls for a celebration, don't you think?" Tonto looked hesitant. John wondered if this was the first time anyone had celebrated anything with him. It must be lonely, being the last vigilante of a dead tribe, he thought. Just as he wondered if Tonto was going to make a move, he clinked their glasses together and they both took a shot.

"Congratulations." John said after the burn disappeared. _You deserve it._

_000Role Models000_

"Danny seems really taken with your Indian friend." Rebecca remarked from the kitchen. John looked up from the dishes he had been collecting.

"What makes you say that?" He asked, surprised. He had thought that Danny was scared spitless of the intense Comanche. He came up beside her where she she was looking out the window.

"Look, they're sitting out there together on the fence." John looked out and saw that she was right. The two of them were perched like a pair of birds on the fence, barely visible in the moonlight. They appeared to be talking.

"I didn't think Tonto liked children." John mused, handing the stack of plates to Rebecca. She laughed and placed them next to the water pail.

"I didn't think Danny liked Tonto." She said. "I remember right before you left, he was talking about how the black lines on his face looked like blood and how he thought he must eat people."

"I think that's the Blackfoot." John said absently as they watched Tonto reach out and place a hand on Danny's head affectionately. "Well I'll be darned." He said, "I think he really does like him."

"It's good. We live so close to the tribes that it's important he learn to respect the Indians. Dan would have wanted that."

"Tonto's probably not the best role model for the Comanche." John remarked, remembering how the other Comanche had regarded his friend. Rebecca shook her head and smiled.

"He's a good man, I can see it in him. He'll be good for Danny." She paused and then looked at him, a strange look in her eye. "He's been good for you." John stared, his throat suddenly dry. After a moment, he replied.

"Yeah, he is."

_000Maternal Instincts000_

John hid a laugh as Tonto refused another plate of food from Rebecca. He doubted anyone else could tell, but he could see the panicky look in the man's face. He was obviously not used to being around women who weren't prostitutes. John knew that Rebecca was trying to thank Tonto for taking care of him and could tell that the Indian had managed to spark her maternal side. Rebecca was a fierce, strong woman; tougher than leather and as steady as a rock but even she could whip out the fussing when she wanted to. He remembered the year she found a baby coon. She had been a holy terror, raising that thing. Hadn't wanted to hear a word against it and would carry it everywhere she went. She had cried for hours when it ran away. John smiled at her fondly and then frowned at Tonto when he grunted and closed his eyes, missing the exasperated look Rebecca shot him.

"Don't mind him, Rebecca. He's just sore that we couldn't leave last night and now the rain's too heavy to ride. Rebecca laughed and set her pie down. Tonto, with his eyes still closed, also missed the calculating look on her face. She was obviously planning new ways to tempt him into eating before they left. Tonto didn't stand a chance.

"I'm sorry I asked you to help with the fence," She said, coming over beside him. "I didn't realize you had somewhere to be." John laughed and dared to pull her closer. Rebecca let him.

"I'm always happy to help you." He murmured. Rebecca smiled, her eyes suddenly serious.

"I'm always happy to have you stay." She whispered. John wanted to tell her that he would never leave her, that he would stay and give her all the love he could but he knew he couldn't. Instead, he placed a kiss on her lips and held her.

_000Playing Doctor000_

There was a reason John was a lawyer and not a doctor. Nowadays, when a young man went to get higher learning, he usually went for one of three things. Medicine, politics, or law. John had chosen law and for two reasons. One, he hated politics and two... he was deathly afraid of sick people. Watching his mother and sister die of fever had made John swear he would never sit around and watch people fade away ever again. Oh how easily things changed. John wrung out a cloth in the bowl of creek water and pressed it to Tonto's feverish forehead. The older man was hot, too hot, and his skin felt like it was burning into John's hands. After a moment, he pulled it away and dipped it into the water again. Before he could pull it out again, Tonto opened his eyes, dazed, and groaned in pain. Quickly, John dripped the cloth and put his fingers to his face, lifting Tonto's head so he could pour a small cup of water down his throat. Tonto coughed a little, but sucked down the cool liquid gratefully. Looking up at John unseeing, he muttered something John couldn't understand. Out of his mind with the fever, he had apparently fallen back into his native language. Afraid the fever might damage his brain, John set the cup down and wrung out the towel, placing it gently on Tonto's face. Tonto was still muttering in Comanche but after a moment, he pushed the towel away and stared at John intently.

"John?" He whispered hoarsely. John jerked in surprise. It was the first time he had ever heard Tonto call him by his real name. The moment was lost when Tonto suddenly started to struggle to sit up, throwing the cloth off and knocking over his cup. John grabbed his arms and tried to steady him.

"It's okay, Tonto, everything's fine. Just go back to sleep." Tonto stared wildly for a second and then slid back into unconsciousness. John lay him back down and wet the cloth again. It was going to be a long night.

_000Red Handed000_

Never in a million years would John have ever expected to keep company with a prostitute, never mind call her a friend, but there was something about Red that you couldn't help but like. In some ways, though he'd never admit it, she was a lot like Rebecca. Both of them were gutsy, independent women who didn't take sass from anyone. Probably the biggest difference between them was that Rebecca still had to worry about her reputation. Red had no such worry.

"Get the hell off my table, boy. You raised in a barn?" She snapped, pushing his elbow off the gilded table he had been resting it on. He glared at her and she glared right back, plonking a map down where it had been.

"Only if you were raised in a hen house." John muttered back at her. "_Ma'am._" He added grumpily. She laughed at him, and swatted Tonto away from where he had come up behind her.

"Keep your hands to yourself." She snapped before looking at the paper. Tonto and John stood on either side of the table and watched her move her finger over the ink. "Now look here." She said, pointing out a small cluster of hills. "There was a bandit in here yesterday and he had loose lips." She said, grinning lavishly. "In all manners of speaking." John could feel a blush creep up his neck and tried to stay unaffected. Red, unfooled, just snickered at him. "The man you're looking for is holed up here with five others. You'll probably want to sneak in. No use getting your virgin ass shot full of holes." John glared.

"My 'ass' is my business and I take good care of it. I won't be letting anyone stick it." For some reason this remark made both Tonto and Red start howling with laughter. Red-faced and annoyed, John huffed and turned back to the map. Let them be idiots, he had an outlaw to find.

_000Bad Day000_

There was nothing John liked less than getting lost, which was unfortunate because they got lost _a lot_. Mostly he blamed this on Tonto. The man was a magpie, always getting distracted and wandering off after anything that caught his attention. Normally John bowed to this as an inevitable fact of life and allowed Tonto to do what he wanted as long as they got there in the end. Today, however, was a really bad day. Breakfast had been stolen by the devil rabbits that followed Tonto wherever he went, his favorite pair of socks had ripped while he was cleaning them, and they had been riding for hours in the hot sun without a break. Getting lost was simply the last straw.

"I knew it!" John shouted, furious. "You've gotten us lost! Again!" Tonto ignored him and wandered away from the horses, staring at the ground intently. "This is the dead horse all over again."

"Tracks." Said Tonto, bending down as if to pick something up. John rolled his eyes and sent a pleading look skyward for patience.

"Yes, yes. I remember. The horse died and you still found the tracks. So maybe this isn't the same, but we are definitely lost." He snarked, furious. He _hated_ being lost.

"Tracks." Said Tonto again, from farther away. John didn't even bother to look at him.

"I know!" Said John irritably, caught up in his rant. "There were tracks and now they're gone. I knew we should've stopped and asked those trappers for directions." Why? Why had he thought it was a good idea to let Tonto lead them to Vernon City? The Comanche had even admitted that he had no idea where it was but had added that he would be able to follow the outlaw's tracks. Well apparently not. John gritted his teeth and tried counting to ten. After a moment he opened his eyes and realized Tonto was nowhere to be found. Whipping his head around, he spotted Tonto standing a few yards away, looking very unimpressed. He pointed downward at the clear hoof marks in the dirt and raised an eyebrow. John could feel red creeping up his neck but he manfully ignored it, turning the horses to follow Tonto.

"Tracks." Said Tonto smugly.

_000Guilt Trips000_

John watched, filled with guilt, as Tonto fixed his bird by the light of the fire. He hadn't meant to shot the thing, it had just been in his line of fire. He didn't regret the shot, it had been to take out a man come up behind Tonto, he just wished Tonto had been a little shorter. After the dust had settled, the outlaws were captured, and the two of them were able to take a breath, Tonto had picked the bird off his head and stared at it in silence. After a moment, he turned and heading back to the horses. He hadn't said a word since.

"I'm sorry about your bird." John said into the quiet, wishing Tonto would say something, even if it was to yell at him. Tonto glanced up at him, but said nothing. After a moment, the neck popped back into place and the bird, while missing a few feathers, looked good as new. Like watching water drain out of a barrel, John could see the tension leave Tonto's shoulders. He stroked the bird's chest and then placed it back on his head. When it was settled comfortably, he turned and looked John in the eye.

"Bird can't lose more feather, Kemosabe." Tonto said and John could have sworn he heard a finger wag in his voice. John grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'll make sure not to hit him next time."

_000Mine Field000_

"Kemosabe."

"_Kee-mo-sah-bee." _

"What does it mean because I don't believe you when you say it means 'wrong brother'."

"Idiot."

"It does not."

John grinned at the pained look on his friend's face. He knew he was getting under Tonto's skin but it was too much fun to pass up an opportunity to tease him. Plus, he really wanted to know what Tonto was calling him. It didn't sound like any Comanche word he had ever heard before.

"Is that even Comanche?"

Tonto paused and John felt a small moment of success. He had obviously startled him.

"No. Potawatomi." Well that was surprising. He had heard of the tribe, some of them made it down east when the weather was bad, but he had never heard of any Potawatomi tribe living in Texas.

"Potawatomi? Aren't they from up north?"

Tonto hummed in agreement. "Far north. Spent some time there as a boy." Tonto's eyes turned distant, as if he was thinking about a very old memory. John wondered what could send a Comanche so far away from his homeland. "Cold." John had been to Michigan; cold was an understatement.

"So kemosabe is Potawatomi for what, exactly?" He asked, bring the conversation back to their original topic.

"_Que no sabe_." _Clueless one_, John thought with a snort. As if the Potawatomi spoke Spanish.

"I speak Spanish, you know. I know what that means."

"Fine. It means 'faithful scout'. Now shut up." Tonto snapped, finally reaching the end of his patience. John knew from experience that this was the time to let him cool off before he got it into his head to do something drastic, like put spiders in his bedroll or tie John's hair to his saddle. For such a loner, Tonto had really odd ideas off revenge. After an hour of silence, John judged it safe to talk again.

"Is 'tonto' Potawatomi, as well?" John asked. He knew enough Spanish to know it meant 'fool' but he really couldn't see anyone naming their child that.

"Yes. Means 'wild one'." Tonto looked miserable and John felt his heart pang.

"You do know that Tonto in Spanish means-" He started to say, trying to distract him from his dark thoughts. It didn't work.

"Yes, Kemosabe_. _ I know." Tonto said dully and that was that.

_000Selfless Choices000_

John was feeling very lighted. He wasn't sure if this was from the gash in his leg, the bloody nose, or the lack of fresh air, but he knew he was probably going to pass out soon. There was no way that Tonto, with his injured arm, would be able to carry him out and there was no way he could push the rocks away and climb out himself without a little time to rest; time they definitely didn't have.

"Leave without me." John shouted over the roar of the cave in. He hoped Tonto could hear him. Tonto could go for help and if John was dead before he got back, well, at least Tonto would be safe. "The tunnel won't collapse just yet and you've got enough time to get out." He listened but Tonto didn't reply. His last thought before he passed out was, _I hope he'll be okay without me._

_000Cold Comfort000_

Sometime later, John opened his eyes to pure darkness. He blinked eyes eyes a couple times to be sure they were open but he couldn't see a thing. John hoped he wasn't blind. Groggily, he tried to sit up against the cave wall but only managed to roll himself over. The move sent agonizing pain ripping up his side from his leg. Well, he thought, at least I'm alive.

"Tonto." He murmured, wondering how far away the Comanche had gotten and if he planned on coming back. Bleeding out in a cave seemed like a horrible way to go.

"Kemosabe?" John was sure he had imagined it. Surely he hadn't been stupid enough to stay? The pain was just making him delirious. He heard a shuffling noise and realized that Tonto was indeed that stupid.

"Why-" He coughed a bit at the dust in the air. "Why did you stay?" Oh he was going to throttle him. How dare he stay trapped with John? Didn't he value his own life at all?

"_Yanny-va-too'ah_, _Kee-mo-sah-bee_... _John_." Tonto said, his voice thick. John wasn't sure what the Comanche was saying but he couldn't miss how choked Tonto sounded. He really hoped Tonto wasn't dying. There was a clunking of rocks to his left and he could suddenly feel Tonto's hand poking out of the rock. He placed his hand in Tonto's and squeezed. He might be angry that Tonto had put his life in danger but he couldn't deny that it was good to have another person here with him. "There is no one I would rather ride with." Tonto said quietly, in the same broken English he had always used. In the dark, John coughed and tightened his grip.

"To the end, then?" He asked, trying not to cry though he knew Tonto wouldn't see them. It was hard to think of Tonto as being dead. After a moment he added, "...you really are an idiot."

_000Fresh Air000_

John let go of Tonto's hand but he wished he didn't have to. He felt like a child again, listening to his mother gasp for air, helpless to do anything to stop it. He wondered how Rebecca would feel when he didn't return. Would she know he was dead or would she assume he had lost interest in her? He wished he could say goodbye to her but knew it was impossible. He hoped she would find someone new to love, someone who could be there for her, unlike the Reid brothers. A noise pulled him from his thoughts and he listened to what sounded like digging on Tonto's side of the rocks. Had someone found them?

"What?" He asked, too tired to raise his voice above a mumble. The rocks next to him began to roll away, letting light shine into the cave. John shielded his eyes from the pain and smiled as Silver and Tonto came into view. Who else but them would save the Lone Ranger? It took them hours, John being too injured to help, but they finally managed to drag themselves out into the fresh air. John thought he had never breathed in anything as perfect as that Texas' night wind. Tonto dropped to his knees and began to check John for injuries, not bothering to be subtle about it. Warmth filled him for his friend and burst out of him in two words.

"Me too." Tonto paused, confusion written all over his face.

"What?" He asked, running his fingers over John's head as if to check for bumps. John took pity on him and explained, grinning from ear to ear.

"There's no one I'd rather ride with than you." He said.

John pretended not to notice the tears if only so Tonto wouldn't notice his.

000ooo000

**THE END**


End file.
